


You've Seen Me Bare

by grimparadigms



Series: widojest week 2019 [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, they are so stupidly in love but don't know how to SAY IT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimparadigms/pseuds/grimparadigms
Summary: Jester takes watch with Caleb, and learns that maybe, just maybe she might be falling in love.





	You've Seen Me Bare

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just so happy and proud of every one of us that is kicking out any fics, art, etc for Widojest Week! Y'all are great!!!
> 
> For the Day 2 prompt: Healing.

They’ve been sitting in silence for ten minutes, then twenty minutes, and thirty—and she’s counting trees now to keep her mind from drifting too far. She doesn’t know why she volunteered for first watch—that’s a lie, she _knows_ why—the wizard beside her is quietly flipping through his spellbook, and he’s the only reason she’d stay awake for an extra two hours. 

The forest around them had felt endless and repetitive, and she’s tired of traveling, and sick of trees, and the long grass that makes her legs itch. She wants to be back at the Xhorhaus in her bed, snuggling with Sprinkle and Nugget, and finding new hidden spots in the house to draw dicks.

She’s so distracted she almost misses the slight wince from the wizard beside her, his fingers twitching as he flips to another page. She spots a familiar drawing she’d done next to the spell _Enlarge_ , the massive dick overpowering the page. She hoped Caleb smiled every time he looked over the spell. 

“Caleb, are you hurt?” 

He pauses beside her, his fingers hovering above the page, dirt and dried blood still crusting over his fingernails. 

“I—” he’s mumbling to himself in Zemnian now, and she’s feeling impatient so she goes for his left hand—the one he’s barely using and the slight tug causes him to wince again, pulling away from her. “I may be just a little hurt.”

“Caleb!” She tries not to raise her voice with the group sleeping around her, but in the darkness she hopes Caleb can see her concern. “You have to say when you get hurt! I _am_ a healer!”

“It will be fine. I just need some rest,” he says slowly, turning to face her with a forced smile. She leans forward to see him better, the dim light of the moon hardly enough to see more than shadows. 

“Take off your coat.”

“Jester…”

She stares him down, and his eyes hold hers for a few seconds before his shoulders slump and he begins tugging off his coat, letting it fall around him. She can see now the spotted blood on his shoulder, a long tear across his undershirt. 

“Fuck, Caleb…”

She’s careful as she moves into his space, her fingers dancing around the injury as she tries to gauge the depth of the wound. She’s only learning now about how to treat wounds and help them heal faster, but she’s not _Caduceus_ —she barely knows what she’s doing. 

“Can you take off your shirt?”

“Ja, ja,” he nods, and he struggles to pull his left arm over his head, and she finds herself helping him tug the white linen over his head, pulling the soaked shirt into her lap.

It’s an absurdly long, thin line of blood and there’s pink and— _fuck Caleb, why didn’t you say something_? She’s feeling angry and scared, but she starts digging into her things for her healer’s kit. She tries not to shake as she grabs for gauze and presses it to the wound. 

“Caleb you can’t _do_ that.” There’s a fierceness in her tone. “When you’re hurting you have to tell us and we’ll try to help you, okay?”

She’s trying to gently clean away the blood with one hand, while trying not to get distracted by his bare chest: small scars along his abdomen, skin patches of a different shade on his left rib cage, and she has so many questions! She chews on her lips as she works and Caleb stays still, hanging his head. 

“I am still getting used to this,” he sighs. He waves at her with his free arm. “Before… it would be days before I could find some herbs or find something to clean the wounds I’d acquire.”

“But you could get infections! You could _die!_ ”

“Ja, I did. But I survived.”

He says it so flatly, it catches her off guard and her hands fall away. She stares at the open wound, and then she looks over at his sunken shoulders and waves of auburn hair falling around his face, and she wishes she could see the blues of his eyes clearly.

“Things are different now, okay?” She says gently, reaching over to tuck the strands of hair that block his lovely face from view. She wants to see him, _really_ see him. “We’re a team. We take care of each other.” Her fingers linger on his hair, and it takes so much willpower to pull her hand away.

“Ah, _liebling_ , you are...” He’s leaning in toward her now and she can hardly breathe, her mind in a panicked state. “You really are the best of us.” He flicks her nose with a languid smile. 

She’s still frozen, and she’s relieved he can’t see in the dark because her cheeks are burning, and she really thought for a moment that he would _kiss_ her—and she realizes now how stupid that would be. She’s not the protagonist in her romance novels and Caleb isn't playing the role of her handsome love interest, desperate to ravish her every chance he gets. She maybe feels a little bitter though, that she’s just _Jester the cleric_ , and nothing more. 

“Maybe you should sleep,” she tries to focus on mending the fabric of his undershirt, watching the tear slowly close and repair. “Heal up and you’ll feel better.”

“I’m okay.” She hands him his shirt, before reaching for more gauze to press to the wound, trying to ignore the blood pounding in her ears. “I’d rather keep you company.”

“Really? It’s been pretty boring though. The forest is just…quiet.”

“We’ll find some way to pass the time.” He’s not flinching away from her touch this time. “You’re very creative.”

She watches him awkwardly put his shirt back on, and she tries to hold back her giggles because he’s flailing and trying not to hit Nott, and she has to press her hand to her mouth. He looks at her with tired eyes, but he’s grinning now too.

“I have an idea but I’d need your permission first.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and he lets out a breathless chuckle and her heart twists in her chest.

“I can’t say no to you, Jester.”

“Good!” She’s already digging around for her paints, pulling out violets and pinks and blues. “Will you be my canvas?”

“I-I don’t know much about paint, Jester, but I don’t think you’re supposed to put that on skin—”

“They are _special_ paints, Caleb. It won’t hurt you.”

“Promise?” He holds up his pinky.

“Promise.” She hooks her own around his.

He pulls up the sleeves of his shirt, allowing her to take a closer look at those scars that seem to cover every inch of his arm. She wants to be as gentle as possible, pulling his arm into her lap, her fingers tracing every scar. She doesn’t take this moment for granted—she knows that _this_ isn’t nothing—he’s bearing himself to her. 

“What are you going to draw, Miss Lavorre?”

“Weeeelllll,” she’s already dipping her brush in pink. “Maybe a couple of dicks, also Captain Tusktooth of course, and maybe a lollipop! I have ideas.”

He nods and smiles, his eyes following each brush stroke. He’s patient with her, letting her make a horrible mess of his arm; all those scars hidden underneath layers of bright colors. When she tries to draw little hearts, they come out as sloppy circles and they both begin giggling; a fit of laughter that stirs Beau, and they have to apologize and usher her back to sleep. They still have another thirty minutes at least and Jester doesn’t want to lose even a second of it.

So they stay huddled together, and she takes each arm and recreates matching smeared drawings. It’s foolish really—to paint him when she knows she won’t be able to help him wash it off until tomorrow. But he doesn’t complain and she can’t stop until his arms are decorated by her. She’s _marked_ him. When she’s done, they both admire her handiwork and he flexes his hand, the paint hardening on his skin already.

He’s turning his arms to try and see each small doodle and crude piece of art. “What does that say? I can’t read it,” he’s twisting his arm to see the only writing she decided to add. 

“It’s in infernal,” she grins, and she shrugs. “Guess you’ll never know!”

He narrows his eyes, but he’s amused by her antics.

“If I had any energy left I would read it,” he laughs. “But I’ll assume it’s something obscene.”

They finish up their watch counting trees again, as she had before, coming up with vastly different numbers, until they turn to the stars, and count them instead. Caleb never pulls on his coat and she finds that she’s curling up beside him—for warmth? For affection? She can’t put it into words, finding it impossible to pull away from him. He only makes it more difficult when she offers absurd numbers that she’s counted of the stars above them and he tries to stifle his laughter, a mangled sound erupting from him. Her heart has become a wild animal in her chest and gods she never wants to move. 

Eventually their time runs out and Caleb is already stirring Beau and Yasha for their watch. She wishes she could argue for a couple more hours, but she hasn’t any excuses. Her spells have run dry and her body is past the point of exhaustion. She’d push herself to the limits, though, for just an hour longer with him.

He lays out his coat beneath him and she watches, glad for the darkness to hide her gaze. His arms are smeared with paint but he doesn’t seem bothered, relaxing his arms against his chest. She can still see her messy infernal across his forearm, feeling oddly proud and embarrassed by her work. She’s signed him, whether he realizes it or not. 

Property of the little Sapphire.

She goes over it in her head, undecided on the implication. Her feelings have always been a tangled mess inside her head, where she keeps her heart safe and hidden. _It’s just a joke. He’ll think it’s funny._ Her face is hot, even now, and she buries her head in her arms.When she falls asleep, dreaming of wide open spaces, her animals piling onto her with affectionate cuddles, there is another figure with her; a Zemnian wizard pulling her close, kissing her along her jaw, whispering things in her ear.

Even when she wakes the next morning, and she sees the dry, cracked paint of her signature she feels her face flush again. 

_I don’t want it to be a joke at all._


End file.
